


Eyes of a Soldier

by shilo1364



Series: Otayuri short stories / one-shots [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Heartbreak, M/M, Not Happy, One-Sided Attraction, Overworking, Self-Harm, Triggers, pushing to the brink of collapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky has it all. A world record. A gold medal. A friend. But as the gold medals rack up, and his feelings grow beyond friendship, he begins to realize just how much he stands to lose, and how much he will sacrifice for the sake of friendship. One-sided Otayuri.Warnings: heartbreak, self-harm, pushing to the brink of collapse, NOT a happy ending





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been running around in my head since the Otabek/Mila rumors started, and I needed it out. So... I'm sorry.

Yuri is so happy to finally have a friend, he’s giddy with it. He throws his arms around Beka, after winning that first gold, high on adrenaline. He teases him good-naturedly, offers to kill JJ for stealing his spot on the podium. Beka smiles, takes the teasing, takes him to dinner.

They chat online, send selfies and cat videos. They meet up for competitions, hanging out, taking rides on Beka’s bike, drinking tea. Yuri wins gold after gold; Beka wins bronze, silver. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Yuri finds himself telling Beka things he’s never told anyone, showing him his true feelings. He tries to pretend that he’s not feeling more than friendship, that the little smiles and touches don’t have hidden meanings. He’s not sure he’s very good at it.

He wants - needs - to talk to Beka about it, of course he does, but he doesn’t know how these things work. But as he gets older, he feels something indefinable within himself shift. He bites his lip, works up the courage, gives himself pep talks.

If Beka notices that he’s more often distracted now, he doesn’t say anything. And maybe he just doesn’t notice. Yuri hasn’t dropped all his masks, after all.

He knows he’s falling hard, knows that he’s playing a dangerous game. Beka hasn’t given him any indication that he feels the same. Tomorrow, he decides, chewing the inside of his cheek raw. Tomorrow. After the free skate. Before they all head home. Tomorrow he’ll tell him.

He chickens out.

But Beka turns back, in the airport, on the way to his gate.

“Yura,” he says, looking at the ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe nervously against the tiles. He’s never nervous. Yuri’s heart beats faster.

“Yes?” he says softly. His nerves jangle with anticipation, but he tries not to show it. Is Beka going to beat him to it?

“Um,” Beka says, rubbing his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. “Um… do you think… I mean… would… is Mila seeing anyone?”

He looks up, eyes disgustingly hopeful, and Yuri feels the slow unfurl of hope shrivel and die in his chest. It hits him like a slap in the face - Beka never saw him as anything but a friend.

He pauses for just a second too long, mouth working silently to form a coherent answer, and Beka starts to turn away, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“No, wait.” Yuri buries his hurt deep under his familiar prickly shell. He’d begun to let it go, with Beka, but now he draws it close, protecting himself.

Beka doesn’t like him like that. Fine. He’s only ever offered friendship, anyway - it's Yuri who's let himself hope for more, Yuri who’s acted the fool.

Fine. He’s fine. He can do this. He won’t lose this friendship.

He smiles, even though he’s dying inside, and he offers advice. Good advice, too. He knows Mila - she’s like his big sister, and she’s never been shy about her love life. He knows what she likes and wants, and what she doesn’t.

Beka leaves to catch his plane with a small, hopeful smile lighting his face, and Yuri smiles back. When he gets home, he cries silently into his pillow all night… but no one need ever know. He’s good at concealing the evidence.

There’s months until the next competition; Yuri spends it training. He’s as strict as Lilia now. She’s not had cause to chastise him in ages. He chats with Beka, but less often. He uses practice as his excuse, or he would, if Beka asked. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t mention Mila again, and Yuri tries not to let himself hope.

Mila comes to him some weeks later. He swallows hard and offers her advice, as well. He knows what Beka likes, after all, better than anyone. And it’s not him.

He keeps smiling and pretending and dying inside, smoothing out all the rough patches in their budding relationship.

He learns to pour all of his carefully hidden emotions into his skating and dancing. Lilia wonders at his sudden dedication to his craft, but knows better than to pry. She simply works harder to help him go further.

Yuri is grateful, and pushes himself beyond his limits, beyond her expectations. Eventually, after one too many times finding him still practicing at 4am, she insists that he take a break. It’s the off-season again; he can afford the time. He can’t afford to injure himself or burn out.

The only problem is, he has no idea what to do, where to go. He’s been distancing himself from Beka, even though he’s switched his home rink to St. Petersburg, now. (he couldn’t stand to see him smile at Mila.) He’s been distancing himself from everyone, so as not to make it obvious. He finally has a friend, and he’s never felt so alone.

He goes to visit Grandfather. He doesn’t know what else to do, where else to go. And Grandfather is always there for him.

He would go to Hasetsu, but since Yuuri and Victor are training in St. Petersburg, now, it would be awkward and weird. Anyway, it’s not like spending more time with the lovebirds would help. He already sees enough of their sappiness as it is.

Grandfather doesn’t pester him or ask questions he can’t answer. He simply smiles, shows Yuri to his old room, and starts to make piroshki.

Yuri settles into the quiet routine of life with Grandfather. And its… fine. Really. He sleeps in the first day, lazes around the house… but it doesn’t last. He can’t sit still for so long, anymore. So he gets up before dawn and goes running, stretching, dancing. He goes back to the dance studio near his house, then the ice rink. He skates. He skates until his feet are bruised and aching, and his hair sticks to his skin. He skates until his legs tremble and threaten to give way.

He carefully cleans and puts away his skates, curls into a corner, and cries. Then he washes away the evidence, trudges back to his room, and falls into a restless sleep. A few hours later he’s up again, racing the sun.

He’s working harder than he was back in St. Petersburg, only here there’s no one to tell him to stop. So he pushes himself harder.

Every day he drinks liters of water to replace the sweat and tears.

He knows he’s losing weight. His clothes are already too big. Normally he’d jump at the chance to buy more, but it just sounds like a nuisance now. He knows Grandfather would worry - distantly, he’s a bit worried himself - but he’s not actually seen Grandfather in days. He’s never at home - always out running, dancing, skating - trying to stay one step ahead of the heartbreak he doesn’t want to acknowledge. If he could only go just that little bit faster…

When he falls, he’s almost more surprised that he’s lasted this long. He lies there, panting, staring unseeing at the sky. His vision is hazy and flickering around the edges from the pain - he thinks it’s the pain, anyway. Maybe? Is he in pain? He doesn’t know how long he lies there. It’s quiet, peaceful. He’s gone numb, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel cold or wet. (Should he?)

When Beka finds him (and of course it’s Beka) he doesn’t believe it. He smiles slightly, trying to focus on the blurry figure. Familiar. Comforting.

He drifts in and out for a while after that. He isn’t sure how long it’s been.

He isn’t sure of anything anymore.

Except that Beka - only it isn’t _really_ Beka, he knows this - is there. Always. And that’s enough to keep him going. He knows he’s lost too much weight, worked himself too hard for too long. He’s only surprised that they insist on trying to help him recover.

And he does recover. He’s young. He’s strong. He’s physically healthy.

Beka isn’t there, of course, when he sees the world clearly again (he never was). But Grandfather is.

Grandfather agrees not to say anything about his collapse. He makes Yuri promise not to do something so foolish again, and he does.

He keeps his promise.

He goes back to the rink; back to St. Petersburg, and Yakov and Lilia, and his friends he can’t stand. He perfects his mask and fake smile. Not even Victor notices. (Granted, he’s distracted by Yuuri much of the time).

He wins, and wins, and wins again. The gold medals pile up; he stuffs them haphazardly into a drawer. He doesn’t want to see them; doesn’t care about them. But he has to keep up his mask.

He closes himself off without making it seem like he’s doing it. The others are so wrapped up in one another, none of them notice. Which is, of course, the plan.

Victor and Yuuri marry. So do Georgi and his girlfriend. So do Beka and Mila.

Yuri is best man at all three weddings - all held the same day, as they all invite the same people. He smiles his perfect fake smile and wishes them all the best.

They all retire from skating, too, leaving for their honeymoons, their new lives.

Yuri tries to go back to the rink the moment they leave, throw himself into practice, but Lilia stops him. She hugs him - she never hugs him - and tells him to take some time off, no arguments.

It’s the off-season. He has time.

He nods, packs his bag, and then stops. He doesn’t know where to go.

He could go to Hasetsu, but Victor and Yuuri won’t be there. Or they will. He’s not sure which would be worse.

He could go visit Grandfather, but he passed away some months ago. There’s nothing for him there.

He could —

He buys a ticket at random, stares unseeing out the window, drifts through an unfamiliar city like a ghost.

He has time.

He has the eyes of a soldier.

He used to think that meant he would fight. He knows better, now.

He hears the roar of a familiar engine, looks up, eyes wide. But the man on the bike is unfamiliar; the eyes beneath the helmet hold no spark of recognition. Yuri slumps, then forcibly straightens his spine, squares his shoulders.

He is the prize pupil of Lilia Baranovskaya.

He has won more gold medals than any other skater his age - including Victor Nikiforov.

He has the eyes of a soldier.

And a soldier endures.

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/)


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